Not the girl next door (Jean's press conference speech)
The Disney Press Conference
Jean had given a lot of speeches before, some in front of much bigger crowds than this one. But her experience as she approached the podium at the Disney press conferences was unique for one reason: She had no idea what she was going to say. Tony had undercut her chance to make a reasonable, sensible proposal by co-opting several of her suggestions, and using them as his opening gambit. Somehow, her nuanced compromise came out sounding like his hard line. Then, Magneto had been uncharacteristically subdued -- which probably made Tony happy, but Jean tended to take it as a sign that he didn't take the proceedings very seriously. Congressman Petrelli, Kitty's friend, had spoken: very nice words, but she didn't know him well enough to be able to guess what kind of intention was behind them. Politicians could always come up with pretty words. Finally, Scott threw her by breezing past Tony's (and her) compromise proposal -- she could tell he was unimpressed -- and pulling out his SHIELD ID card for the greedy cameras. "Cyclops" might be a registered hero, he said, but Scott Summers deserved to be his own man.
He's got a point, she thought, as she walked to the podium. Now, the question is. . .do I?
Scott was taller than she was, of course. She had to wait for the microphone to drop. "Hello," she said, speaking softly but clearly. "My name is Jean Grey."
"I'm afraid I can't --" She glanced back at Scott. "I can't make a grand gesture. Like my friend Mr. Summers. My SHIELD card says 'Jean Grey.' I don't have another name."
She winced as soon as she said it, because she realized it sounded like a reference to their divorce. "I mean --" Crashing and burning here, Grey. Crashing and burning. "Some of you know. I used to be Marvel Girl. The first Marvel Girl. With the X-men." She reached up and pushed back the hair that was threatening to fall down in her face. "I was young," she continued. "I've been called Phoenix, sometimes, since then but -- I'm not that. That name isn't me. I --" She looked down. She could feel all their eyes on her, people she knew expected more of her than this. She thought about the others, Scott and Kitty and Lorna. . .
She looked up. "I was just remembering. When we were all X-men together, when we were young. They used to send me, sometimes, to talk to people. Because I look normal. Not like a freak. Pretty, even. I could pass for the girl next door. Nobody was afraid of me. I think, today, still --" She turned and looked at Tony. "Director Stark. He asked me to fly patrol with him. I impress people. Make them smile." She looked down at her body and, as she stood there, the conservative business attire dissolved into a brilliant costume, bright green with a gold sash, a logo on her side in the shape of a bird. "This is new, I made it myself. Just for this week. Bow before my magic costume-changing power." She smiled. "It's all very shiny."
"I still look, quote, normal. I still don't scare anyone. Back when we first started a publicity campaign for X-Corp, the press agent tried to convince me we should be marketing a line of dolls. I think the word she used for me was 'toyetic.' I didn't let them make it, by the way. But, I think that makes my point. Nobody's scared of Jean Grey. And yet --"
"Director Stark comes out here. He says -- what exactly? Kidnapping and assaulting innocent kids is wrong. There's a radical stance for you. He makes a few mild suggestions for -- maybe, possibly -- looking into minor reform in the registration law. Reforms that, he admits, will make things easier on SHIELD, and had nothing to do with what the Act was about in the first place. And yet he really thinks he's brave for making this stand. I don't blame him. In the political climate we're living in -- the climate where Congressman Petrelli had to spend half his speech justifying why he's even here on stage with us -- maybe this does sound radical. So radical that our friends in the press --" She nodded down into the crowd. "Hi, Trish. We all know why sharks don't attack reporters, right? -- Our friends in the press assume that I must be having some undue influence on him. Two points on that. First. If anybody out there thinks that having a close personal relationship with Tony Stark earns some kind of free pass from SHIELD? You really haven't been paying attention. And. Second."
She stepped back from the microphone, breathed in deeply, then returned. "Second. If I wanted to have an influence. On Tony Stark --" At this, Jean closed her eyes. She tilted back her head, put her arms out to the side at an angle and let the feeling wash over her. Her skin felt warm. Her feet left the ground. She didn't know what everyone saw when she did this, but she knew the image that burned into her mind: A large bird with golden wings. Rising and rising. Growing and growing.
She didn't consciously create the voice, and yet she heard it coming out of her. [WHEN I DECIDE TO USE MY INFLUENCE -- I GUARANTEE THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU WILL KNOW IT.]
Jean didn't know how long she hovered there, how long she burned. She only gradually felt the wave pass over her, felt her feet settle back on the stage. When she opened her eyes, she looked down and saw the girlish white dress she had put on earlier. "Oh good," she told the microphone. "I'm wearing clothes. That doesn't always happen."
"Now --" She looked around at the crowd, but didn't look at those behind her yet. She wasn't ready to know what the others thought of her performance. "We can all pretend," she continued, breathing deeply, "-- that we are not powerful. That we are not glorious. That we are just like everyone else. That we are not, to some people, frightening. But I know that fear. I have felt that fear. I have been -- and I think that I am like every other person on this podium in this respect -- at times, I have been afraid of myself. I do not blame anyone who is afraid. But I also know this --"
"There are other reasons to fear. Other things that keep me up at night. The last time I returned to the Xavier Institute, a place that was my home for many years, I saw the grounds monitored by a squad of sentinels from the Office of National Emergency. For our own protection, it is said. Protecting those of us who are feared, by means of the same machines that were built to destroy us. The same machines that once killed sixteen million, humans and mutants alike, in an hour. I don't question the sincerity of O.N.E.'s intentions. For now. But when I think of Xavier's, I can't help remembering the lessons I received there, as a girl. The classical education that Charles Xavier insisted on, and the words of -- uh, some dead Roman, when he asked -- Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? "Who watches the watchmen?"*
"Director Stark thinks he has the answer. Those of us with powers -- however acquired -- will keep an eye on each other. Because people are afraid of powers that are unchecked, unregulated. The Fifty States Initiative -- superhero teams in every state, co-ordinating with each other, answerable only to SHIELD. Heroes who have been vetted for social acceptability, trained in public relations. Pretty, shiny, domesticated heroes. The boy and the girl next door, dressed up in Spandex, tame and safe for public consumption. They'd fit right in here at Disney."
She stepped back from the mike, signaling that she was almost done. "When we talk about registration, we can negotiate about who it really affects. We can argue about which names belong on the cards. I'm just afraid that we're all missing the big picture. So ask yourself --" Now she transformed again, from green uniform to red to white, to the glowing gold of the Phoenix, then back to the smiling girl-next-door Jean Grey. "-- Ask yourself who you should really be frightened of. Thank you."
And she stepped away.
*OOC -- Dude, I totally apologize to Juvenal, and to Alan Moore.
Jean had given a lot of speeches before, some in front of much bigger crowds than this one. But her experience as she approached the podium at the Disney press conferences was unique for one reason: She had no idea what she was going to say. Tony had undercut her chance to make a reasonable, sensible proposal by co-opting several of her suggestions, and using them as his opening gambit. Somehow, her nuanced compromise came out sounding like his hard line. Then, Magneto had been uncharacteristically subdued -- which probably made Tony happy, but Jean tended to take it as a sign that he didn't take the proceedings very seriously. Congressman Petrelli, Kitty's friend, had spoken: very nice words, but she didn't know him well enough to be able to guess what kind of intention was behind them. Politicians could always come up with pretty words. Finally, Scott threw her by breezing past Tony's (and her) compromise proposal -- she could tell he was unimpressed -- and pulling out his SHIELD ID card for the greedy cameras. "Cyclops" might be a registered hero, he said, but Scott Summers deserved to be his own man.
He's got a point, she thought, as she walked to the podium. Now, the question is. . .do I?
Scott was taller than she was, of course. She had to wait for the microphone to drop. "Hello," she said, speaking softly but clearly. "My name is Jean Grey."
"I'm afraid I can't --" She glanced back at Scott. "I can't make a grand gesture. Like my friend Mr. Summers. My SHIELD card says 'Jean Grey.' I don't have another name."
She winced as soon as she said it, because she realized it sounded like a reference to their divorce. "I mean --" Crashing and burning here, Grey. Crashing and burning. "Some of you know. I used to be Marvel Girl. The first Marvel Girl. With the X-men." She reached up and pushed back the hair that was threatening to fall down in her face. "I was young," she continued. "I've been called Phoenix, sometimes, since then but -- I'm not that. That name isn't me. I --" She looked down. She could feel all their eyes on her, people she knew expected more of her than this. She thought about the others, Scott and Kitty and Lorna. . .
She looked up. "I was just remembering. When we were all X-men together, when we were young. They used to send me, sometimes, to talk to people. Because I look normal. Not like a freak. Pretty, even. I could pass for the girl next door. Nobody was afraid of me. I think, today, still --" She turned and looked at Tony. "Director Stark. He asked me to fly patrol with him. I impress people. Make them smile." She looked down at her body and, as she stood there, the conservative business attire dissolved into a brilliant costume, bright green with a gold sash, a logo on her side in the shape of a bird. "This is new, I made it myself. Just for this week. Bow before my magic costume-changing power." She smiled. "It's all very shiny."
"I still look, quote, normal. I still don't scare anyone. Back when we first started a publicity campaign for X-Corp, the press agent tried to convince me we should be marketing a line of dolls. I think the word she used for me was 'toyetic.' I didn't let them make it, by the way. But, I think that makes my point. Nobody's scared of Jean Grey. And yet --"
"Director Stark comes out here. He says -- what exactly? Kidnapping and assaulting innocent kids is wrong. There's a radical stance for you. He makes a few mild suggestions for -- maybe, possibly -- looking into minor reform in the registration law. Reforms that, he admits, will make things easier on SHIELD, and had nothing to do with what the Act was about in the first place. And yet he really thinks he's brave for making this stand. I don't blame him. In the political climate we're living in -- the climate where Congressman Petrelli had to spend half his speech justifying why he's even here on stage with us -- maybe this does sound radical. So radical that our friends in the press --" She nodded down into the crowd. "Hi, Trish. We all know why sharks don't attack reporters, right? -- Our friends in the press assume that I must be having some undue influence on him. Two points on that. First. If anybody out there thinks that having a close personal relationship with Tony Stark earns some kind of free pass from SHIELD? You really haven't been paying attention. And. Second."
She stepped back from the microphone, breathed in deeply, then returned. "Second. If I wanted to have an influence. On Tony Stark --" At this, Jean closed her eyes. She tilted back her head, put her arms out to the side at an angle and let the feeling wash over her. Her skin felt warm. Her feet left the ground. She didn't know what everyone saw when she did this, but she knew the image that burned into her mind: A large bird with golden wings. Rising and rising. Growing and growing.
She didn't consciously create the voice, and yet she heard it coming out of her. [WHEN I DECIDE TO USE MY INFLUENCE -- I GUARANTEE THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU WILL KNOW IT.]
Jean didn't know how long she hovered there, how long she burned. She only gradually felt the wave pass over her, felt her feet settle back on the stage. When she opened her eyes, she looked down and saw the girlish white dress she had put on earlier. "Oh good," she told the microphone. "I'm wearing clothes. That doesn't always happen."
"Now --" She looked around at the crowd, but didn't look at those behind her yet. She wasn't ready to know what the others thought of her performance. "We can all pretend," she continued, breathing deeply, "-- that we are not powerful. That we are not glorious. That we are just like everyone else. That we are not, to some people, frightening. But I know that fear. I have felt that fear. I have been -- and I think that I am like every other person on this podium in this respect -- at times, I have been afraid of myself. I do not blame anyone who is afraid. But I also know this --"
"There are other reasons to fear. Other things that keep me up at night. The last time I returned to the Xavier Institute, a place that was my home for many years, I saw the grounds monitored by a squad of sentinels from the Office of National Emergency. For our own protection, it is said. Protecting those of us who are feared, by means of the same machines that were built to destroy us. The same machines that once killed sixteen million, humans and mutants alike, in an hour. I don't question the sincerity of O.N.E.'s intentions. For now. But when I think of Xavier's, I can't help remembering the lessons I received there, as a girl. The classical education that Charles Xavier insisted on, and the words of -- uh, some dead Roman, when he asked -- Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? "Who watches the watchmen?"*
"Director Stark thinks he has the answer. Those of us with powers -- however acquired -- will keep an eye on each other. Because people are afraid of powers that are unchecked, unregulated. The Fifty States Initiative -- superhero teams in every state, co-ordinating with each other, answerable only to SHIELD. Heroes who have been vetted for social acceptability, trained in public relations. Pretty, shiny, domesticated heroes. The boy and the girl next door, dressed up in Spandex, tame and safe for public consumption. They'd fit right in here at Disney."
She stepped back from the mike, signaling that she was almost done. "When we talk about registration, we can negotiate about who it really affects. We can argue about which names belong on the cards. I'm just afraid that we're all missing the big picture. So ask yourself --" Now she transformed again, from green uniform to red to white, to the glowing gold of the Phoenix, then back to the smiling girl-next-door Jean Grey. "-- Ask yourself who you should really be frightened of. Thank you."
And she stepped away.
*OOC -- Dude, I totally apologize to Juvenal, and to Alan Moore.